


Bladder-ing Blatherskite

by AJtheBlueJay



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bladder Control, Car Desperation, Desperation, Gen, Kink, No Plot/Plotless, Omorashi, Potty Dance, Wetting, pee holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJtheBlueJay/pseuds/AJtheBlueJay
Summary: Omorashi (pee desperation) scenarios with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.





	1. Car Ride of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenton is desperate in the McDuck limo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this idea and literally couldn't sleep until working it out. Also y'all are welcome for the pun.

“Please, can’t we pull over somewhere?!” Fenton pleaded.

Gyro Gearloose loosed a groan. “Look around you, Cabrera! Back-to-back traffic from here to downtown. And we’re on a bridge!” He gestured toward his window with both arms. It was plain to see that Scrooge McDuck’s limo was trapped bumper-to-bumper for the foreseeable future, horns around them honking incessantly. The Audubon Bay Bridge was an infamous spot for rush hour traffic, but this line was legendary, stretching all the way back from St. Canard behind them.

“But I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last…” Fenton hissed, bouncing slightly in his seat next to Gyro, legs crossed tight.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you drank all that free lemonade,” Gyro stated bluntly, crossing his arms and slumping against the seat.

“I-I was nervous! I’ve never been to a big science convention before-”

“You drained the whole pitcher!”

“I did that once,” came the voice of Launchpad McQuack from the driver’s seat. “Kinda ended a lot like this.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Launchpad,” Fenton mumbled, whining to himself at the pain of his very full bladder.

Despite all the lemonade sloshing around in his stomach, Fenton and Gyro were successful in their presentation of Fenton’s new creation, Fentonium. Investors were clamoring toward them afterward, and soon meetings had been set up with nearly all of them. Scrooge would be pleased.

However, soon after they left St. Canard Convention Center, all that liquid began sloshing in a different place, and it wasn’t long before Fenton was bursting, and their entourage was stuck on the bridge.

It felt heavy like a stone inside Fenton, like a water balloon stretched tautly, and his lower belly protruded slightly at the load it carried inside. _I’ve never had to go this badly in my life!_ he thought, adjusting himself again. He opened and closed his legs, hands balled against his thighs. His bladder was straining with an urge that was impossible to ignore. In fact, it was all that consumed his mind as he massaged his thighs.

_Think of something else, Fenton. You can make it if you just think of something else._

His gaze turned to the outside. Seagulls flew overhead toward where Audubon Bay met the horizon. The sun reflected off the blue water, making it sparkle. It rippled and gurgled, gallons of water filling the bay, surging with amazing natural force against the coast…

A wave of urgency hit Fenton. He squeaked and grabbed himself instinctually, legs squeezing the urge away. His tail tensed and he bit his lower lip. Soon, it subsided, and he exhaled.

“Fenton?”

Upon hearing his name, Fenton whipped his head toward the rearview mirror, his long hair flying backward. Launchpad was looking at him with concern. “Hang in there, bud. You can make it.”

Fenton felt his cheeks heat up with his blush. Launchpad’s encouragement helped ease him somewhat but the thought that he may have seen Fenton grab a sensitive area caused cold sweat to drip down his brow and his face to practically glow red.

He lifted his hands away slowly, flashing a nervous grin at his driver. “Uh, th-thanks, Launchpad.”

“You’d better,” said Gyro, in that low serious tone that sent Fenton in a tizzy, “McDuck’ll take it out of our paychecks should any damage occur to his limo.” He said this while continuing to stare out the window, emotion nonexistent across his face.

Fenton gulped and doubled over as his bladder protested once again, but not as strong. _Gotta go gotta go gotta go…Gotta focus on something else…how about some math?_ That always worked to ease his nerves.

Better than the spur of the moment, irrational decision that landed him in this mess.

He looked out the window again. Cars of all makes and models inched forward at an agonizing pace, making no progress across the bridge, so it seemed.

He crossed his legs again, slipping one hand in between as casually as he could muster. The soft feathers covering his crotch were slightly damp from sweat. At least Fenton hoped it was sweat. _Let’s see now, if this car is traveling at an average of two miles per hour, and it’s roughly five miles from here to the Money Bin…_

It would take forever to reach relief.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have forever, and it was unlikely that this commute would decrease even to “frustratingly long.”

The urge burned between his legs and his tail wagged with the effort of holding back the flood. He felt as if he would leak with one wrong move. _You can hold it. You can hold it. You can hold it._

“Can you at least suffer in peace?” Gyro grumbled. “It’s bad enough just being in here with you longer than I have to.”

Was he just talking out loud instead of thinking?

Suddenly, the car lurched forward and stopped suddenly. The seat belt dug into Fenton’s waist as he was brought forward with the unexpected movement, and he grunted at the sudden pain in his bladder. He tensed and drummed his feet on the floor as he pushed on his crotch with both hands. A spurt of pee splashed against his hands, his tail sticking straight up in shock.

 _Oh no!_ If physiology class taught him anything, then it wouldn’t be long now before the rest would follow.

“Launchpad, I can’t hold it!” he wailed, bouncing in his seat, full-on potty dancing in his employer’s limo.

“Cabrera, I forbid you from wetting yourself in this car!” said Gyro.

“Uhhh, hang on!” said Launchpad. The limo turned to the right and Launchpad maneuvered carefully onto the sidewalk.

“Are you crazy?” said Gyro, hands clutching his head.

“Just trying to help a friend,” Launchpad responded, driving past the snails on the road and leaving the Audubon Bay Bridge in the dust.

Fenton longed to release the rest, and as he rubbed between his legs, he could feel his sphincter beginning to tire. _I’m gonna pee on myself and Mr. McDuck’s gonna find out and fire me!_ The sensations sent shivers up his spine and he hissed as another jet leaked out.

“I’m leaking! Hurry!” he implored, seeing the limo cut the line where a hole in traffic was. It was just a matter of moving through the light-speed-by-comparison downtown traffic to get back to the Money Bin.

“Well, stop it!” Gyro demanded.

“I can’t stop it! It’s physically impossible!” Fenton cried, his voice cracking. The pain was greater than it had ever been, and it took all of his effort just to prevent any more unwanted leaking. The rubbing at his groin was not dissuading the overwhelming surge of uncomfortable fullness, and he pressed against his opening and let out a groan. It gave out on him and allowed hot pee to flow for a second before he could gain control again, dripping past his fingers and onto the seat, soaking his crotch and his tail feathers.

“No! I’mgonnapeeI’mgonnapeeI’mgonnapeeee!” he squealed, pushing against the base of the driver’s seat with his legs as tears dotted his eyes.

“Almost there!” Launchpad responded, making a sharp right turn. At last, the Money Bin came into view. Hope was holding out, and so would Fenton, perhaps.

His bladder cried out in pain, tired and overflowing. “Ah! Ah! Nnnnnnngh!” Fenton cried out, squeezing his groin with hands and thighs as tightly as he could.

Then he let go.

His muscles gave out, and his pee flowed without any barriers. It cascaded through his fingers and began to puddle on the leather seat. It was relief beyond description or measurement. His eyes rolled back in his head as more of the golden liquid pooled around his crotch and dripped in rivulets off the front of the seat and onto the carpeted floor. It was free, and it felt sooo good.

Fenton panted from his efforts and as the flow slowed to a dribble, he opened his eyes again, removed his hands from his crotch, and fully realized the magnitude of what he had done. He was sitting in a poll of his own urine, surely ruining the nice leather of Scrooge’s limo and possibly its carpet mats. His hands were dripping wet, having received the brunt of the cascade that was inside him. Tears began to drop down Fenton’s face and he sniffed back the rising lump in his throat.

When he looked up, they had pulled into the garage of the Money Bin, Launchpad having not crashed into the wall like usual.

He heard Gyro sigh, but Fenton could not bring himself to face his boss. He was too ashamed.

“Look, it’s…unfortunate this happened,” he started, voice not coated in the anger Fenton was expecting. “I’ll bring towels and cleaner from the lab. Clean up your mess and I won’t tell McDuck about this.” Fenton looked to see Gyro get out of the car and close the door behind him. He nodded in Gyro’s direction as the chicken strode to the elevator.

Launchpad gave him a friendly smile from the rearview. “It happens to everyone, Fenton. How’s about I stay and help out?”

“Thanks,” whispered Fenton, wiping his eyes on his elbow. He was thankful for such great colleagues at his workplace. Colleagues that would pick him up when he fell, in their own way.

He also made a promise in his mind: no lemonade for a while after.


	2. A Close Call in the Gizmosuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gizmoduck rushes back to the Bin, a pressing matter on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Gizmosuit doesn't have a toilet in it, Frank? Well, that's a problem, as we'll no doubt see below.

Another caper finished for Duckburg’s defender, the noble, the dashing, the courageous Gizmoduck. But today, something was different. He didn’t wave at bystanders as he flew over the city center. He didn’t do loop-de-loops over the First National Bank. And if someone on a nearby roof saw him fly directly overhead, they’d see their hero gritting his teeth under his reflective shades.

Gizmoduck had to pee...immediately.

Inside the massive suit of armor, hours of holding his pee were coming to a desperate head for one Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. He was flying toward the Money Bin as fast as his booster jets could carry him. His steel-covered arms were at his sides to aid in the aerodynamics necessary for flight, leaving him with only the use of his legs to aid in keeping the urge at bay. As his bladder throbbed once again, he pressed his thighs together as tightly as he could and moaned out loud. “Hurry, Gizmosuit…” he implored it out loud. “I won’t last much longer!”

He sighed with relief seeing the Money Bin approaching fast in his vision. He quickly sent the open command to the secret tunnel leading to the underwater lab. The Gizmosuit activated autopilot, which would carry Fenton straight back to base automatically. He used this opportunity to grab himself, massaging himself between his legs. He felt as if he were seconds away from peeing himself. It was so close to the outside world, and his bladder screamed at him to release the flood he had kept in so diligently for so long.

“Just a little longer, Fenton. Almost there,” he said as the tunnel zoomed past him, almost in an instant. Another door retracted, revealing the lab Fenton called his second home. The Gizmosuit dove up a few feet before lowering itself daintily to the metal floor and touching down without a single jolt. The suit’s torso opened like a double door, and Fenton carefully jumped down, both hands still on his crotch. 

He made a beeline for the restrooms, tensing his tired muscles for one last endurance test. As he shoved the men’s door aside, he felt a sharp pain in his groin. It was coming. He slowed to a stop by the sinks and pulled on his crotch, squishing his legs against each other.  _ Don’tleakdon’tleakdon’tleak, _ he willed in his mind.

The pain subsided. He had not leaked.

Regaining his senses, he located the nearest stall, which happened to house his former office and shoved his way in, not bothering to lock the door. He hovered over the bowl and his bladder gave out. The relief was immediate as he let it all out into the toilet. He moaned out his euphoria as the rock weighing down his pelvis was finally expelled from him.

He peed for what seemed like ages. When finished, he washed his hands, a happy duck once again. It was another close call this time, but one that had come too close for Fenton’s liking. Something had to give, and he was sure his bladder would not anymore.

As he opened the door to exit, Gyro Gearloose was standing there, arms crossed. “Had a good flight home, did we, Cabrera?” His tone was dry.

Fenton raised on his tiptoes to match Gyro’s height. “Dr. Gearloose, I hate to be so assertive, but Gizmoduck will not be seen again until we install proper urinary facilities in the suit!”


End file.
